


A New Anchor

by thorbiased



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, buckynat - Freeform, winter widow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 11:05:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorbiased/pseuds/thorbiased
Summary: "I...haven't had fresh cookies in 70 years."There's sympathy in Nat's eyes when she steps closer to him. "So you stole my cookie dough?" she asks, pinching off a bite of the chocolate chip laden dough.Bucky laughs as she pops it in her mouth. "Sorry."She shrugs. "It's fine. You can buy me more, and give me some of the final product, of course."Bucky hasn’t had cookies in too long, so when he can’t sleep, he makes some. With Nat’s help, of course.





	A New Anchor

The new Avengers facility is quieter than the old tower. Without the energetic hum of the city, the true silence of night can shine through. To everyone else, the quiet is welcome, but to Bucky...it's dreaded. The horns honking, gravel crunching, and drunken shouts of happiness would've anchored him in the moment. Without them, he can't convince himself that's he's not in Indonesia with his finger on a trigger or in Mexico with a mask making it hard to breathe properly or in Russia...strapped to a chair. 

With a deep breath, he continues down the stairs, stepping lightly so not to wake anyone. The soft glow of the stove light guides him to the kitchen, while reminding him of the illumination of a car fire in the woods. 

Bucky shivers and keeps moving towards the fridge. He opens it up and blinks against the bright LED's. He reaches in and grabs a tube of cookie dough that he's pretty sure is Nat's and sets about peeling back the plastic. He makes a mental note to apologize and buy her some more the next day. With his heel, he kicks the fridge door shut. 

"Where does Tony keep the pans...?" he murmurs. He squats down in front of the cabinets and looks around in the darkness. Finally, his fingers graze the flat surface of a cookie pan, and a tiny smile finds his face. "There you are."

As slowly as he can, he wiggles it free from under the other pots and pans. He sits it on the counter then grabs a knife out of the sink. He's about to slice into the dough when the sound of a gun cocking in the distance registers to his ears. The grip on his knife tightens, and he turns around. 

The silver of the gun barrel emerges from the darkness, followed by a slender hand, then the rest of Natasha's body. It falls. "Oh. What are you doing, Bucky?" 

Bucky shrugs. "I, uh, I couldn't sleep."

"So you came for prune juice?" she asks with a cocked head and a little smirk. 

Bucky smiles a little. Her jokes about his and Steve's ages are made often. He steps out of the way and reveals the cookie dough. "I...haven't had fresh cookies in 70 years."

There's sympathy in Nat's eyes when she steps closer to him. "So you stole my cookie dough?" she asks, pinching off a bite of the chocolate chip laden dough. 

Bucky laughs as she pops it in her mouth. "Sorry."

She shrugs. "It's fine. You can buy me more, and give me some of the final product, of course." 

"Oh, I will," he says. She reaches for more dough, but he smacks her hand away. "There won't be any left for the cookies, Nat."

"But the dough is the best part," she whines, looking up at him with those pretty blue eyes that could turn to stone cold ice so quickly. 

"Not to me," he says, taking the tube of dough and holding it above her head. 

"We both know I can get that if I wanted it," she tells him, her hand on her hip. 

"I know," he says, "but I can keep it away from you, too."

Natasha half-heartedly lunges for it, but Bucky catches her wrist with his left hand, careful not to tighten his grip any further. She wriggles her way free. "Fine. Bake it."

"Ha," he says, poking out his tongue at her. "Mind heating up the oven?"

Nat rolls her eyes and walks over to it. "350?"

Bucky checks the plastic wrapping then nods. "Yeah." He slices a few more chunks of dough and lines them up on the pan. 

He offers more dough to Natasha, who grins and gets a handful. Bucky pinches off some for himself too, and they lean against the counter in the darkness together. 

"Have you really not had cookies in 70 years?" Natasha asks with a mouthful of dough. 

Bucky sighs and stares at the ground. "Yeah," he admits, crunching on a chocolate chip. "Not that I ate them much before, though. With the Depression and all."

Natasha laughs, but she looks up to see that he's not kidding. "Oh right. You really did grow up in the Great Depression."

Bucky nods. "So maybe it's been more than 75 years." 

The oven dings once, and they jump to face it. Natasha exhales short and fast. "Pass me those, old man,” she says, pointing at the tray of cookie dough. 

Bucky passes the tray over to her, and she pops them in the oven before closing the door. "You'd think," she says, setting the timer, "that with all the technology Stark's got, we could make these babies in a few seconds."

Bucky smiles and twists the tube of plastic so that it's closed. "I know right? I was promised flying cars."

Natasha laughs, the happy sound so much sweeter because of its rarity. In the soft glow of the oven light, with the smell of chocolate and sugar in the air, Bucky reaches out and takes Natasha's hand. She runs her thumb over his rough palm, and they stay like that. The silence is no longer feared and weighted, with Natasha's hand in his, he finds a new anchor. 

When the oven dings, Nat slips oven mitts over her hands and pulls out the cookies. The chocolate is melted, the dough is golden brown, and the smell is heavenly. While Natasha searches for a spatula, Bucky uses his metal arm to his advantage and grabs a piping hot cookie right off the pan. 

"I hope it burns your mouth, James," she mutters, getting a chuckle out of the 90-year-old assassin. She pulls a spatula out of a drawer with a metallic shing. She slides it under a gooey, melted cookie and then scrapes the treat into her palm. "They're better doughy, you know?"

Bucky nods, a little lost in the taste of the chocolate and sugar and nostalgia. He thinks of countless days gone by, days filled with the happiness he'd been robbed of for so very long. His eyes drift shut and then his body can't tell if he's back in his old house on a chilly December afternoon as a child or if he's in the Avenger's headquarters with a woman with understanding in her eyes. 

"Hey, Bucky?" Natasha asks. 

Bucky opens his eyes and his vision takes a moment to refocus on her face. "Yeah?"

"You okay?"

Bucky considers it, looks around the dimly lit kitchen, takes a breath, then nods. "I'm okay."

Natasha leans up on her tiptoes and kisses a dab of chocolate off his cheek. She licks her lips and smiles. "Good."


End file.
